


A Child of Dying Stars

by Bitrektual



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:59:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitrektual/pseuds/Bitrektual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel wanders out of a party at Mirkwood only to find conversation in the forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Child of Dying Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This was a thread that I and an OC Warden of Lorien had on a Hobbit-based forum rpg. The different posts are separated by "...".

It wasn't that Glorfindel hated parties, per se. He just wasn't fond of them since becoming a renowned hero.

The invitation had been extended to Elrond, but responsibilities back home had hindered his attendance this time, so Glorfindel had gone in his stead. Once upon a time, he could go to such a fantastic gathering and enjoy himself. Dress modestly, enjoy some wine. Perhaps find someone to dance with a bit and enjoy some sophisticated – but tension-free – conversation.

Now this seemed near impossible.

People knew his face, his name; and it mattered little if he wore the most extravagant of gowns or the humblest of tunics. So he'd gone with both.

Dressed in the fine wear of Imladris, Glorfindel politely conversed with the elves that sought his attention, though the conversation was nervous and shy. An effect that he seemed to have on many now, in light of his past deeds. A couple of hours proved enough for him as the conversation grew dull and he could no longer find the pretended passion to speak of the past.

Few realized the strain of remembering such things, and with his mind feeling light from the uncharacteristic amount of wine that he had consumed, Glorfindel politely excused himself from his current company and sought a discreet escape.

Dodging from the larger part of the crowd, Glorfindel wound his way through the event, grabbing a yet unopened bottle of wine, before slipping into the shadows of the forest that surrounded the Wood Elves' Mirkwood home. The shadowy trees hid danger, this he knew well enough. But to his trained ears and eyes he had felt little worry for his safety.

Quickly, he tugged at the lacings of his outfit and slipped out of the fancy, but somewhat uncomfortable, dress robes. Beneath them, he wore his more favoured style of dress. Simple leggings and tunics were much easier to move in, and as he took the bottle in one hand, he tossed away the hated robes onto a bush for later retrieval.

He didn't open the bottle immediately, thinking to let the wine currently in his system flow for a moment first. In company it was difficult to enjoy drink when so many desired the attentions of the great 'Balrog-Slayer' and so few had the courage to go through with such intentions. And those that did hardly had interesting conversation to offer.  
“Elrond, you'll pay for this one,” he muttered softly to himself, readjusting the belt on which his blades hung so that they would sit more comfortably. The trained warrior never went anywhere without his weapons, a habit that had been ingrained in him longer ago than he cared to count or remember.

Ages lost in time.

…

She needed a moment. Just time away from the drunken elves and their singing, and she just longed for the peaceful hum that accompanied the great Mallorn trees. The forest of Mirkwood… it’s song was deathly silent. Which likely explained why the elves sang as often as they did. It was enough to drive the Warden to seek the quiet of solitude.

Here she was most comfortable, often spending weeks – if not months on end – in silence and speaking only in the secret language of the Wardens' hand gestures. Closing her eyes, she parted her tunic some and let the side rest behind the hilt of her longsword. Easier for her to draw, should there be a need for it. Her senses on alert, she looked out into the unforgiving black that not even elven eyes found ease in piercing.

She did not have the trouble of finding solitude that Glorfindel was experiencing. Indeed, she’d seen the legendary Balrog-Slayer, but did not approach him. She held respect for the elf who seemed to have done the impossible, but she would not weigh him down with yet another presence. The keen eyes of the sober Warden noted the rather distanced conversation he invoked and his body language spoke long of his discomfort.

Well, at least she was not alone in that. She longed for her tunic and cloak, but neither would she be able to don until returning home.

At the sound of clothing being removed, Authiel didn’t hide the sneer as she assumed a couple come to further celebrate and turned to look over her shoulder to offer words chill enough to dissuade from such activities in her unknown presence, only to have a brow climb at the sight of Glorfindel himself ridding his person of the fancy dress robes he wore. As silent as a forgotten wisp, she shifted from the shadows to make her presence known and chuckled softly at his grumbled words.

“It is good to know I'm not the only one who was coerced into attending,” her words were spoken softly, as if she was not used to the sound of her own voice, watching him curiously before looking back to the darkness of the Wood. He was not of the Lorien, but his deed and words near required respect that even she had trouble ignoring. "Your deeds, I've heard long tell of them. I’ll not repeat them, as I’ve heard your own tales told back to you at least four times this eve. I wonder if these elves do not realize how dull it must become hearing how great one is over the course of at least a thousand years.”

She couldn't help the smirk on her lips and the tease from her voice as she looked over her shoulder to him again. She glanced to the bottle of wine in his hand and looked back to the shadows. She'd had but one cup and didn't fancy herself drinking any more. She held the long empty cup by her fingertips barely touching the rim. Feeling that if she didn't hold to it, another would be pressed upon her.

“You lasted longer surrounded than I originally thought you would. I noticed your discomfort nearly two hours ago…” Turning so that her profile was now to him, her gaze remained fixed to him now. Just so long as he hadn't lead the throng of swooning elleth and doe eyed ellon with him, she would tolerate his presence.

…

Though brief and silent, Glorfindel heard the faint noise and saw the shift of movement out of the corner of his eye seconds before hearing her voice. He hadn’t expected to see anyone else out here, and his frame straightened slightly out of habit at the prospect of yet more company. He was weary of entertaining more Mirkwood elves, but he was prepared to fake a smile again. Glorfindel had rarely been one to turn away strangers, despite how he may have felt like doing it at times.

Her voice and line of thought, however, surprised him in their similarity to his own. Despite his better attempts to hide it, a slight smile crossed his features as he replied with quiet humour.

“’Go,’ he said. ‘It will be fun,’ he said,” he gave a dry chuckle, the weariness of catering to the needs of his adoring fans evident in his voice and the sound of his laughter. It was with great relief that this stranger reassured him that she would not press the topic of his deeds, and his smile unintentionally brightened a bit.

“More than that, if my count is correct...” he mused, shifting the wine bottle idly in his hands, suddenly feeling sheepish at having stolen the bit of wine. Watching her curiously, as she moved about, he noted the goblet in her hand and glanced awkwardly down at the bottle in his hands.

“Do you need a refill?” he asked, trying to offer the polite motions or words that he thought were expected of him. He was used to offering council and doing battle, not conversing at celebrations and entertaining strangers. He had long since forgotten the social norms expected of him, if he had ever known them to begin with.

His attention returned to her as she spoke, and gave a mild shrug. “I am accustomed to performing despite discomfort,” he responded softly. The wine helped with that a bit. On his own he often indulged in a glass or two on a quiet afternoon, but knew that he had gone far beyond that this evening in light of the excitable company.

In comparison, he might be that man who found conversation and relaxation impossible until the aid of alcohol had softened his muscles and tongue.

…

She chuckled softly at the reasoning behind his own coercion and nodded her head. Though his company claimed was far more prestigious than her own. Her mother was not the Lord of Imladris, not of any note beyond her own daughter’s and husband’s adoring eyes. Yes, Authiel cared deeply for her mother, it is just that the two grew apart since they held few common interests.

“I was bribed,” she said with a sort of smile more found in her youth than her long years now. “My patrols often take me days… months… even years if needed. She has always tried to convince me to choose the shorter patrols, but I will not have it. I agreed to this and a few more like it in order to buy her silence.” Having now spoken to this ellon at more length than any elf at present.

“No, thank you. I do not care for wine and the effects of it.” She drank rarely, preferring water to grape. “If you have need of a glass, however,” she offered the goblet out to him with a grin, “Better that than brave the adoring masses, I should think.” She set it down between them, using the opportunity to move completely from the shadows.

Her hair braided at her temples and the rest allowed to fall straight down her back. She took the moment to well and truly take in the form of the ellon and smiled, “A warrior such as you would not feel comfort in the light of everyone's attention. Those like you and I prefer a campfire and comrade to party and polite conversation. Better to talk about position and technique than drink, and who knows what gossip these elves think up."

True, Authiel was a lightly bitter soul, but it served her well. She spoke her mind plainly and that was something few elves seemed capable of, save a few. Haldir was one such elf, though she’d seen little of the Marchwarden since her return from patrol.

“Not many consider that the Balrog was felled not long after the Kinslaying. Dark times…”

…

Glorfindel suspected Elrond was simply trying to get him to socialize more. He could hardly blame the elf-lord, for he knew that he had grown anti-social in recent years. He was weary. Not in body, perhaps, but in heart and soul. How much had he given, how much had he sacrificed for the sake of others? Leaving his home in Valinor and traveling across the hated Helcaraxë, giving his life in Gondolin and returning to Middle Earth once more when he would have much rather stayed. And yet still he remained.

Even Elrond seemed to take for granted at times what Glorfindel had seen and done, drawing his spirit within himself until he spent his days hiding away. Weeks at a time were often spent on self-assigned patrols, occasionally going with a group but sometimes preferring to be on his own for just a moment.

“I'm sure your mother appreciates it,” he said as she spoke of being bribed to come to the gathering by her parents. He settled down heavily on a fallen log, setting the bottle of wine down at his feet for the time being. “I should have brought Elladan and Elrohir, maybe even Arwen. They would have enjoyed this more than I,” he mused, thinking of the children of Elrond and then suddenly realizing that he was blabbering about things that likely held no interest for her. “My apologies, I lost my train of thought…” he apologized quickly, brushing his hair out of his face. He had left it loose, partly out of laziness, rather than put it up in braids.

Conversation turned to that of the Balrog again, and other such dark times in history, but oddly it didn't feel as mundane as it had before. At least this woman seemed to hold some manner of understanding where others seemed unaware of the effect that visiting such hardships had upon him. Mention of the Kinslayings, however, drew an uncomfortable shift in his frame as his gaze darted away briefly.

Though he had had no part in it, he still felt guilty and ashamed for his kin's actions. He had done nothing, he hadn’t joined it but nor had he tried to stop it.

She denied another glass of wine, but offered her own mug, though he didn’t take it immediately and watched as it was placed between them. He could feel her eyes studying him, a discomfort that he never seemed to get used to, but he remained still under her scrutiny. Stripped to the more modest set of clothing, he didn’t appear the fancy elf-lord that many expected, but for some it mattered little. His rank was well known no matter what he was wearing. Still he could not meet her gaze and his head was dipped slightly, golden hair framing a pale face as his blue eyes gazed quietly at the ground. His hands were folded in his lap, though his fingers fidgeted with each other in an almost nervous-like manner.

Still, her words made Glorfindel finally raise his head to look at her curiously, a faint smile lighting his lips. A true one, the first real smile he’d felt in some time. Her words held a ring of truth that brought comfort to him in a way. Yes, even if he preferred solitude, the comfort of fellow warriors on a patrol was much preferred over the maids and lads that he came across at such celebrations and festivals.

“I suppose there are few left whose company I enjoy without reservation,” he replied quietly. Elrond was one, Erestor was another. The twins were enjoyable in small doses and he never turned Arwen away. He didn’t often travel to Mirkwood, or anywhere these days, and his company was limited to the House of Elrond.

…

Again she noted his discomfort and she found herself feeling something a bit more than disdain for another elf not of the Lorien. She sat beside him and rested the bow at her right hand, close should she find need for it. Reaching down, she claimed the bottle of wine and pulled free the cork, taking a long drink before handing it to him. Silence would descend, but not the kind that would make a body squirm in discomfort.

“You would let them make you a ghost of former glory? Unable to look even a simple elleth in the eye for the weight of a burden that isn't yours to bear?” her words were cold and harsh, but the look in her eyes was not nearly so. It wasn’t concern, more like she didn’t want to think him so.

Of course, the realization of her own words brought a scowl to her features; one looking far too common an expression. She let out a sigh and took the bottle again for another drink, it seemed a night for it in the end.

 

“If you let the deeds of your family cast shadow over you now, you will never escape it. No act of glory, no quest, no great journey will ever strip you from it. Honour those who fell with memory that few in this world can claim. Live because they cannot. Fight for what they would have. Protect what is yours. Anything less is insult.”

Ever the elleth spoke her heart without apology should her words insult. She would not waste her breath for 'sorries' as she felt that too many were coddled with softer words and veiled intentions. She glanced to him for a moment before handing him the bottle once more. “What else can we do? One who looks back and mourns for what could have been will never see the path offering what could be.” Words her father spoke to her many times that she never repeated until now. She seemed to find the wisdom in them as she looked at Glorfindel now. She would have to remember to thank her ada for them at some point. And then try to avoid the hounding questions of having met the Balrog-Slayer.

Still, she’d caused more tension than she’d wanted and said more than she usually dared to any one being. Gesturing with a hand as if to brush aside the words as trivial, she smirked and nodded her head. “I feel the same. Though, it is easy for me since I am often guarding the borders of the Lorien and those who call it home. Often weeks stretched without a word passed from lips to another and only hearing the whisper of the trees.”

…

As she sat down next to him, Glorfindel glanced over at her curiously. He would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by her. He watched silently as she took the wine, opening it and taking a swallow before handing it over. After a brief moment he took it from her and gave a small smile before repeating the motion.

She then startled him by scolding him, or so it sounded. He listened inquisitively as she spoke, processing her words. If he did not feel blame then he would feel shame, no matter what she said. But how could she understand? What did she know?

“I did nothing wrong, but I did nothing right. I am… ashamed of my kin, however distant in blood they may be, for their actions and nothing can ease –“ he paused. Why was he trying to explain to her. This elven maid who had been born so long after the fact, and yet… and yet seemed to hold such understanding as he had not met in such a long time.

She spoke of family shadows, of living and fighting and looking ahead rather than behind. Her words were blunt, harsh, honest… For this, he was thankful. Giving a dry scoff, he met her gaze once more with eyes that were aged and weary despite the youthful glow that still clung to his elven features.

“I am too old to keep looking forward,” he said simply, as if this were fact that could not be argued against. Truly he felt it as he thought of his last life. Had it not been enough for him to live and die once? Might he have to do it again one day? He didn't know what the future held in store for him, and there were times when he didn't wish to know. He dreamed of returning to Valinor, to live in the peaceful valleys and beautiful forests once more. To finally escape the long struggle of life in Middle Earth.

But no. He was still needed here, and he would stay for as long as he had to. A gentle breeze flowed through the leaves of the Mirkwood trees and Glorfindel took another swallow from the bottle before offering it to her once more, and raised his gaze toward the treetops, where the leaves and branches were so thick that seeing starlight was near impossible.

…

“You say you did nothing, but you bore witness. None else save three… maybe four can claim to have been during those times. Do you think carrying that story is no deed on it’s own?” her eyes narrowed as she stood, and she turned and looked at him, arms crossing over her chest. “For an elf who has lived so long, do you not see what role you played? Yes, you killed a Balrog and had hand in the defeat of the Witch King of Angmar, you spoke the prophecy, and you stand as witness to the Kinslayings. And will keep resolute watch to prevent them from ever recurring.”

After the angry tirade, she looked a little drained and closed her eyes. His next words merely had her shaking her head.

“How sad,” looking at him with pity before turning and picking up her bow and shouldering it smoothly. “I have no time for any elf who will not pull themselves out of self-loathing long enough to see their worth. Age and renown seem to have no bearing on such topics.” She should have not allowed herself such frivolities. Wine and conversation of an Elf of Imladris. Haldir would be most displeased with her actions and she would likely hear no end of it should it ever become knowledge to others.

The elves of the Lorien, it seemed, were indeed superior if one of the greatest of elves not among their numbers truly became such a shadow of the ellon she’d read about in books.

It was time to go. She’d fulfilled her obligation to her mother and would see herself to the Mallorn trees once more. Leaving Glorfindel to sit with his wine and sorrows. She meant what she said, she’d little time or tolerance to those who would not help themselves. She’d done more for him than she’d done for most she viewed as such. Mostly, she sneered and kept walking.

…

Her harsh scolding surprised him, and with each continued word and breath, he found himself falling into emotions that he had not entertained in years.

Anger welled in his chest, but not anger at her necessarily, but more at her words and the truth that they rang with. With heat and anger, she spoke of his deeds, of all he had done and yet he gave himself no credit. For the first time in what felt like years, Glorfindel felt moisture run down his face, and in surprise and embarrassment he turned his face away and wiped at his face with one hand.

Did he shoulder great deeds? Yes. Was he proud of them? Yes, in a way. Did he want them? No.

Her lecture stopped and, for a moment, he sat in silence before realizing she had stopped speaking. Glancing back up to her retreating form, he rose to his feet as his hands trembled in anger and frustration. Some are born great, others achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

“How sad, you say, and yet you know nothing!” he spat out, speaking with a haste and anger that was uncharacteristic for him. “Who are you to judge me now? You are but a child in the eyes of all I have seen.” Perhaps his words were spoken a bit too rashly, for he knew he did not know her. Now that the bottle had been uncapped, though, it seemed impossible to put the cork back in. Whether his words gave her step pause or not, he continued.

“It is not self-loathing I hold. I–I'm just tired,” he said, his words seeming so simple and yet the emotions whirling in his face were not. “Grief, weariness… loss of faith,” he mused, seeming unsure what he was feeling as he tried to explain it. “Now, I'm sorry if I'm not Glorfindel, the great Balrog-Slayer that you expected from the stories, but do you know what those stories don’t tell? The truth,” as he spoke, his voice seemed to drip with words that had been on his mind for years, and yet he’d never spoken them to another soul.

“What do you expect? Some great, hardened h-hero…?” his voice cracked as he spoke.

They told of his deeds, of his bravery and skill. But reading them and hearing them, Glorfindel felt as if someone else had done them. For that was not how he remembered them at all. As he continued, however, his voice fell strangely calm, and the emotion that had sent his body into shivers had suddenly seemed to leave.

“They don't tell of the terror or the grief, the unbearable pain of seeing your kin – your family – stoop to murder, again and again! To see great elves driven to bloodshed and death by anger and hate and greed! They don't speak of the crippling fear when walking to battle, knowing, not wondering, that you may never come back,” he confessed, leaning wearily against a tree. “And when you finally die, finally find rest and peace from it all in a home beautiful and wonderful beyond description, you get sent back.”

He gave a deep, shuddering sigh as his rant finally seemed to come to a close, and he closed his eyes to the world.

“I’m only brave when I have to be,” he added softly. “I do what I must so others don’t have to, and I would do it without the glory; without the stories written for me," he mused, swallowing and taking a deep breath as he forced back the mask of calm strength. “And I will continue to do it. I will smile and laugh, fight and protect, until such a time that I can finally go home.”

He didn't know if she was still there or if he was speaking to thin air, but either way the words had come and were heard either by her or the surrounding forest.

“You don't know me. Don't pretend that you do.”

...

His words did give her steps pause as she turned to look at him. She let him rant, because he looked to need it. Years in solitude could not harden her heart so far that she didn’t feel the tug, but she didn’t interrupt him. However, even she couldn’t stop when she heard his voice crack.

Valar help her if any Warden ever heard of this.

He continued about the story behind the story that few ever heard. None wanted to because it was the reality of some tale they spoke as praised saga.

“You’re right, I am a child to one such as you. I don’t know you from any other elf of Imladris. Nor do I know the pain you’ve endured. You may not like my words, but I speak them regardless,” she looked upwards for a moment, as if seeking the Valar before she looked at him again and unslung the bow and rest it reverently aside before approaching him.

A hand falling to his shoulder, not in embrace, but in simple touch. Something she didn't indulge in often.

“I expected a hero, and I’ve seen one. The things you have faced… they are beyond the count. Yet while you’ve lived lifetimes longer than I, there is common ground. I have dedicated my life to combat and its pursuit so that I can guard that which I hold dear. I have taken patrols as a Warden because it is my duty to protect what I love. So that they don't have to worry of their own safety. You cannot say I don't know that burden, because I know it close as one would a bed mate,” she released his shoulder, but didn't step back.

“You have walked Arda many years, known death and peace only to be returned… you know the end. How can you not have faith when you have seen the forests beyond even our eyes?” She took a moment to look away from him, looking back, she seemed unguarded. “We are allowed to be tired, Glorfindel. We are ageless beings and yet there is only so much one can take. I know no remedy to renew the soul we guard so dear aside from finding some part of this world you find happiness in,” she took a breath and offered her arm. “I am Authiel, Warden of the Lorien… and I will not apologize for my words spoken now or ever, though I regret the pain they’ve brought you. It – I am often on my own and know little of how to speak soothingly to others.”

…

In his defense, Glorfindel did regret the hasty words he had spoken the moment they had left his lips. But she spoke with knowledge and wisdom that comforted him as she returned the conversation easily. She was unapologetic of the harsh words she had spoken, and in a way that made him feel better. Despite the tears that stung his eyes and threatened to fall, he offered a slight smile though he did not meet her gaze.

“Don’t apologize for words that need to be spoken,” he replied softly, admiring her ability to speak such truth even to one such as he, who often inspired too much nervousness for such honesty from many. His eyes were shut to the world, but he heard her move closer and braced himself as he wondered what would come next. Nothing she had done this night had been expected and he didn’t think to try and predict her next move. No more harsh words came, however, and instead he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

Opening his eyes, he turned to glance at the hand and then turn his gaze to her face, listening as she spoke in a slightly softer tone. I expected a hero, and I have seen one. These words startled him as they might with one who underestimates his value. She had seen one despite his flaws? Despite that he was not the fearless warrior that many envisioned? It wasn't so much that he felt his deeds were meaningless, but after years of hearing the stories created and speaking with the people who adored him and expected such an image, it tended to warp one's mind when they tried to match what they believed was expected.

How can you not have faith when you have seen the forests beyond even our eyes? Glorfindel sighed, resting his head against the tree at his back, taking comfort in the nature surrounding him.

“I suppose I find difficulty, sometimes, seeing the good through all the bad. I’ve seen such terrible deeds done by my own kin; by elves and men and dwarves…” he replied slowly, thinking about the answer carefully as he did not wish for another rash outburst. “But still I try,” he finished, sounding weary but determined.

Hard as it may be to see as of late, Glorfindel did not give up hope for a brighter world.  
The woman then offered a hand and introduced herself and Glorfindel realized he had never asked her name. How rude of him! He took the offered hand with a smile, bowing his head slightly.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Authiel. I apologize for my manners this evening,” he said sincerely, knowing that he hadn't offered the greatest of first impressions. He would have to make that up to her somehow.


End file.
